


I Have Never

by OthilaOdal



Category: Death Note
Genre: Break Up, Drinking, Drinking Games, Friendship/Love, Gen, Love, M/M, Memories, Mild Sexual Content, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OthilaOdal/pseuds/OthilaOdal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drinking game with his mafia buddies makes Mello nostalgic and think of the one person he had been avoiding thinking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Never

Mello could never understand why everyone he ever met enjoyed harping away about their past. As far as Mello was concerned, the past was in the past for a reason. And yet even the mafia thugs he had made a point to hang out with for the past three years made a ritual out of it, a drinking game, to be played every time they had a reason to celebrate.

The game itself was called "I Have Never" and Mello despised everything about it. The very name made his mouth curl with the sour taste it left on the wetness of his tongue. He could think of a million things he had never done.

The thought was sickening but the men around him enjoyed the game. So he swallowed the foul taste and tried to put up with it. He twirled the shot glass in front of him, sitting silently on the glass surface of the table, filled to brim with the colorless poison he had chosen for the night, vodka. His leather pants squeaked against his seat as he leaned back, fingers still lightly caressing the little glass set before him, leaving ripples on the surface of his poison.

His eyes narrowed at Zakk as he waited for the platinum blonde man to commence his least favorite drinking game. The rules were simple. Everyone on the table has a shot of vodka set before them. Then one person starts the game by telling the rest one thing he, or she, has never done. Those who have done what the person hasn't, drink. Those who haven't, don't. It was a pointless game, aimed only at getting to know each other's past better. And Mello could not give a single care to recalling his past.

"I have never….." Zakk began, rubbing his chin. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he made his decision. "I have never fucked a bitch on a rag."

Mello's mouth curled, his eyes half shielded themselves from the gross sight Zakk's words had painted before them. Some of the men at the table cried out in disgust. But Rod and Rushall took their shots, Rod with a little more flair and pride than Rushall.

"What?" Jack cried out pointing at Rod. "Boss, you have?!"

"A real man isn't scared of a little blood." Rod laughed, glancing at Mello and Mello had to hold back the vomit in the back of his mouth and smile back. "A real man fucks whatever he wants, whenever the fuck he wants."

Mello rolled his eyes once Rod's eyes were off of him.

"My turn…" Rushal muttered, once the sounds of excessively flattering praises aimed at Rod died down. "I have never slept with a man."

Mello flinched as red flashed before him, as though someone had messed with an old wound on his chest. He frowned.

"Liar!" Zakk called out, grabbing Rushall's shoulder. "That one time we found you with that little boy in the alleyway."

Mello's frown deepened. Flaming red danced before him, taking a clearer form with each passing second. It started with just a little flame, spreading little by little, dancing in the wind, until it encircled the contours of a face Mello hadn't dared to recall for the past three years.

"I was just having a bit of fun!" Rushall defended himself against accusations. "I never fucked the kid."

Blue eyes, deep as oceans, shimmered before Mello. Red danced with blue, fire against water. Mello found himself staring at the poison before him. A smile spread on the face that had re-painted itself in his head, the face he'd rather forget. And yet he was amazed by how clearly he could recall the face.

"Oh yeah?" Jose pushed. "How about that time you got drunk and…."

Mello didn't care to listen anymore. His thoughts had taken him elsewhere, into that one place of his mind he liked better unexplored, the memory lane.

He recalled pale naked skin glowing in sunlight, red hair, blue eyes and laughter, loud and free, like music carried on air. And fingers, fingers tangled in each other, pale fingers tracing patterns on Mello's sun kissed skin, hot breath against his neck, a butterfly kiss on his cheek. More laughter. More sunlight. More red. More blue.

The memory had a name and it was Matt and the name itself had gone un-uttered for so long that it felt foreign and yet painfully familiar.

"Matt." Mello's fingers lightly traced his lips as he felt them move to whisper the forbidden name again, the simplest movement yet one causing his heart beat a few times faster.

His eyes flickered back at the men around him. He wondered if he had the time to give in to the temptation of the thought, think back, relive the memory of hair that danced like flames, eyes that glistened like water. The men were still busy loudly discussing whether Rushall's claim could be believed or not and Mello couldn't help but seize the moment.

His heart hastened back to the memory it had once been most fond of as though freed from a cage where Mello had left it to struggle and long to relive it's memories, memories of the afternoon sunlight swarming through an open window onto his bed, memories of white sheets, crumpled and creased under Mello's diamond laced skin, his fingers grabbing at his pillow, the sun littering his skin with sweat. The only thing that had shaded him against the sun was the boy between his legs, leaning over him. The boy was the center of the memory. The boy was Matt.

Mello could almost hear the whimper that had left his lips when Matt had pushed inside of him, tearing him apart, little by little and yet all he had done was arch his back in pleasure and hope it wouldn't show just how badly he wanted Matt to do his worst to him. But his hope had always been in vain, for Matt could always see his need in his eyes. So the boy had taken Mello's hands in his own pulling them up above Mello's head and pushed deeper into him, digging his face in the groove of Mello's neck, biting at his flesh. Mello had freed his hands from Matt's grasp and ran his fingers in Matt's hair, moaning in deep pleasure at the feel of Matt's manhood pushing into him.

Mello frowned deeper. Despite not having thought about it in so long, he knew this memory too well. Soon Matt's thrusts would get harder, faster. Soon Mello wouldn't be able to hold his pleasure back. He would moan with a smile on his face, eyes lightly lidded, a heart soaring in the heavens, a body stained with smooth cream.

He would then lie next to the boy, soaked in sun, sweat and semen alike, playing with his fingers. He would then ask an age old question.

"Do you love me, Matt?"

And Matt would reply with his mantra, the one he repeated every time they found themselves in each other's arms.

"I love you. I'll love you forever. I'll always stay by your side."

It would be followed by a kiss, then a giggle, another kiss, then laughter. More laughter. More sunlight. More red. More blue.

Mello frowned harder. His heartbeat was making him nauseous. After all that repeated behavior, laughter and love, it seemed so strange that Matt was no longer a part of Mello's life. But it was so, despite Mello's efforts.

"Matt, I'm leaving." Mello had whispered in the redhead's ear as they lay in Matt's bed on a cold night in December.

The redhead had pulled back from Mello's embrace and frowned at him.

"Leaving?"

"Leaving Wammy's." Mello had said.

"What? Why?"

Mello had taken a deep breath. "L is dead."

Matt's blue eyes had grown in size. "He picked you?"

"No." Mello had said immediately. "He didn't pick." Silence had fallen between them. "I let Near have it."

More silence.

"Then why're you leaving?"

"I'm going to catch him, before Near."

Matt had sat up, frowning down at Mello in disbelief.

"Are you mental?" He cried. "You're a kid!"

"And so is Near!" Mello's back had left the warmth of the bed as well. "But he's going to be working on catching Kira-"

"Yes!" Matt had argued. "Yes, but with grown trained professionals. What're you going to do alone?"

"Alone?" Mello had stared. "Not alone, Matt." He had smiled, snaked his arms around Matt's shoulders. "With you. Together we can do this."

"This is suicidal, Mello!" Matt had protested pushing Mello away.

Mello had frowned at him. "You told me you'd stay by my side forever."

Mello looked up at the men around him, their laughter and loud rejection of Rushall's claims, thankfully, brought him back from his memories. He frowned at his poison, his fingers still resting against the glass.

"I have never slept with a man!" Rushall repeated, his voice raised as though people would believe him if he raised his volume.

The men continued to protest at his claims, a few threw some crude remarks at him while others laughed. No one noticed Mello's calm or the chaos behind his calmness, the red that still danced before his eyes, the blue that continued to choked him. His eyes fell on the patiently waiting poison set before him in an innocent little glass. He silently brought the glass to his lips and drained it as Matt's final words rang in his head.

"I have never told you that I'd die for you."

**The End.**


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